


that shit could kill a bus of kids

by Cephied_Variable



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephied_Variable/pseuds/Cephied_Variable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You do your best Dave Strider impression: "hey terezi hey tz hey tz wanna argue cause i do bluh bluh meat popsicle."</i></p><p>Dave and Terezi yell at each other. It gets kind of embarrassing. <i>Dave? Did you hate your brother?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	that shit could kill a bus of kids

**Author's Note:**

> Pretend this is some bullshit troll-kids sessions get mooshed together post-Scratch scenario or something. I really shoulda just written this as a pesterlog.
> 
> Originally written for the [kink meme](http://community.livejournal.com/homesmut/5870.html?thread=4445422#t4445422) right here. Apparently "kink meme" translates to "innocent hand holding". The title is a reference to [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8cQOx77XSQ).

“We’re getting this over with as quickly as possible.”

“Fine with me,” you mean that too. You are exhausted, still a little woozy from blood-loss, still not completely mentally caught up to everything that’s happened. Your hands are tense with unaccounted justice and every hour Vriska flies free is another anxious line of semi-circles clenched into your palms. This is the first time you’ve seen Dave for real and you can’t even be excited about it.

Excited?

Yes, you were pretty excited. For lots of twisty turny reasons there’s not really time to think about and were you being properly mature here you would have worked out already. He’s brighter up close like this- a smudge of pale to your senses- slouched casually with his hands in his pockets. You mentally draw a squiggly angry expression where his face should be and dot it with red. _TH3R3_ , you think proudly, _SOOO COOOL_.

“Huhn.” he starts moving and you keep pace easily, “Not even gonna argue a little?”

You sigh, exasperated, “Dave, we don’t have time for this.” and you _don’t_. You’ve got half an hour to get to the next gate or Karkat’s gonna have an (admittedly adorable) aneurysm and also the universe might end.

“Shit, Tz, I got all the time in the goddamn world, don’t I? All the time for your bullshit. You sure there’s no sadistic, elaborate side-quest you want me to two-step tango through for your sick amusement?”

“Oh, wooow. Could you be anymore self absorbed?” you jab your cane angrily into the dirt, walking a little faster. _BOYS_. You are Terezi Pyrope and you have so far proven to have the worst taste in flushed quadrant romantic options. Knight of Blood? Knight of Time? More like _WH1NY 1NS3CUR3 4SSHOL3S OF M1SC3LL4N3OUS 3L3M3NTS_. “I have things on my mind right now other than catering to your _hidden coolkid insecurities_!”

“Oh my fucking jesus would you stop that.”

“What _now_?”

“Would you,” and he grits his teeth, you can hear the shift in his tone as he slows down, “Stop talking like you know me. You aren’t privy to the content of my cryptic ass brain jelly any more than you are to the details of my wicked smooth trousers, packed tight with all that pulsating pre-teen man popsicle you find so intriguing. What I’m saying is-” and he grabs your wrist and yanks you to a stop. You’re too shocked by how soft his weird, pale skin is to be annoyed and he’s being such a jerk you can’t really feel guilty that your first thought is how porous it is. Standing so close, you can smell his blood. Dammnit Dave, stop being so _D3L1C1OUS_.

“What are you saying, _Dave_?” you roll that single syllable around in your mouth all sing-song. Right now, it tastes like red candy too.

“What I’m saying is that the grill is fucking closed.”

“Oh?” you quirk an eyebrow quizzically. You just _C4N’T H3LP 1T_. You love this; you love picking and prodding where you don’t belong inside someone’s head and he’s _right_. Despite all your convictions, you had a blind-spot with this one and you really, really want another chance at that brain jelly. You want to see his whole damn brain rolled out in front of you like you’re unravelling a spool of rope. Nooses knotted from his thoughts to hang those _whiny insecurities_ for high treason. Dave is practically giving you an open invitation here.

“Yeah. _Oh_. Get the fuck out, Terezi. The grill’s off, the burger’s been eaten and the old folks went home to play parcheezi. You’re creeping around out sniffing through the garbage like a crusty grifter at this point.”

“As charming as your Earth metaphor game is, Dave, I don’t actually know what any of those things are and don’t have the energy to pretend to be impressed right now.” you only cackle a _little_ bit, but it’s still enough to make his voice chill right the hell over.

“ _What_?”

You try not to gloat mentally. You say _Y3SSSS_ in your head, but only once, “You might not believe it, but I was only ever trying to help you. But you are so _obstinate_ all of the time! It’s not like I wanted to trick you into anything, but you’re so thickheaded it was the only way.”

“So you were lying about that too. Right- not even surprised. So much shock and awe going on here like you just sent F-16’s right into my heart. Shattering all over the place.”

“ _I don’t even know what those are_ ,” your voice is losing it’s mischievous tenor now. You’re starting to see it, the loose edges, the tiny cracks and its actually kind of frustrating, “Augh, you are being so melodramatic. I said I had to trick you a lot, not that I was _lying_.”

“This ain’t a television show, Tz, you can’t just retcon your massive alien girl boner for me because you’re embarrassed now. Getting so defensive.”

“I’m defensive?” you laugh for real this time, throwing you head back and everything. You clasp both hands on top of your cane and lean in close, taking a deep whiff. You can smell the irritation off him and through the haze of colour and shape you can almost see the way his face is contorting as he attempts to control it, “I think you actually are a little heart broken, Daaaaave. Mr. Oh No I’ll Never Be The Hero Or As Good As John Human Boo Hoo- funny that your ego’s big enough that you think I’d drop everything for a few clever comics full of cultural references I really don’t understand. I’d be rolling my eyes if I had pupils right now.”

He’s silent for a beat. His hands come out of his pockets and he runs one though his hair, “Right, whatever. That’s the same shit everyone says when they get rejected.”

“ _Rejected_?” one of your eyebrows twitch as your cheeks puff into an instinctive pout, “Dave, you can’t be serious.”

“I am so serious,” he snaps, “I listened to enough of your creepy ass rants long enough to get  
a good idea of the situation. Painted me a fucking Sistine Chapel of your weird fetishes.”

“Dave, _what is a Sistine Chapel_?”

“A Sistine Chapel is a storybook about how you’re some kind of weird emotional vampire sinking your one million glittering shark teeth into the necks of dudes who loo- no wait, _smell_ \- vulnerable.”

This barb catches you a little off-guard. It hits you like a slap and you reel back, bearing your teeth. You can’t do anything but goggle with offense.

“Yeah whatever, sorry I got wise to your game. Is that what happened with Vantas too? Or is he still pathetic and lost enough that he sucks up your bullshit like honey off a hooker’s spinal cord?”

“ _Still_?” you chuckle, “What are you trying to say here, Strider? That you were sucking honey off a sub-thresh lieutenant’s spinal chord (for some reason) for me?”

“A what? And no. _Fuck no_. Jesus, stop projecting. Fucking creepily grinning at me like you’re enjoying this. You getting all hot and bothered off this aggression or something? You wanna get rejected in all your retarding troll romantic quadrants?”

Dave’s voice is cracking under the pressure. He’s slipping unfaithfully out of his monotone, his words hanging back with a weird drag you haven’t heard before. His vowels are too long and his manner too shaky, “You were taking notes?” you try really hard to sound all cavalier with this retort, but it comes off a little too sincere question. And it is- _Dave Strider’s memory has careless holes in it like coral reef, but he remembered your rant about troll romance_.

(Before that he remembered _your name_.)

It’s getting kind of hard to be properly mad. You’re not maliciously curious anymore; you’re all throwing rocks at the dark water to see what happens.

“I was listening to your shit for something like three days straight, Pyrope. Fucking memory, how does that work?”

“ _You took notes_ ,” you lean forward again. _You need to smell the hesitation. WH4T 1S TH1S_? His poker face isn’t so great in real life. You wonder briefly if it’s just you- the combination of you and him and maybe the situation that’s letting you dig your nails into all these little fractures and tear them apart. That thought is almost uplifting, although you get the feeling that the elation you’re relishing right now is probably what he meant with the _“Sistine Chapel”_ comment.

“Stop fucking jumping to conclusions. _Jesus. Christ_.” you think you know who Jesus is (magical human ancestor with a big fanclub), but you’re not really clear on christ. “You twist every goddamn word I say like oh man I’m sending this thought to green three and this one to red five and now its time for my whole mind to collapse in a sweaty pile of limbs and butt-cracks, awkwardly pawing at the naughty bits before anyone catches on. I _did not take notes_. I don’t give a shit about your weird polygamous hatesex or your fucked up dragonball z culture.”

“Now you are just going for the most obscure cultural references to confuse me!” you frown. He is so mad that you’re aren’t taking him seriously anymore. It’s really hard resisting the temptation to just close the distance and lick up his face. He’s probably making a really telling facial expression right now.

“No, I’m making really lame-ass, unironic, pithy references to underscore the fact that you and I aren’t even from the same fucking universe and there is no way you’re ever gonna have my number so stop trying. It just _pisses me off_.”

“We _made_ you, remember?” it really is exhausting to have to keep reminding these kids of that. Momentarily, you relate to Karkat. You stop immediately, “I don’t think it’s that different, Dave.”

“Well, we could write a book on what you think, Tz, and every page would have a knife through the back.”

“ _Unfair_ ,” you hiss. Shit- that one actually did hurt. You still haven’t figured out how to properly apologize, but this probably isn’t it. Vriska’s humming a really obnoxious victory chorus in your mind and that hurts too, “Lame too. _Unfair and lame_. You aren’t even giving me a chance to make my case here. Your childhood was a lot like ours- every day was a fight for survival to prove yourself. Raised by your adult-male lusus who pushed you to become the best even though you were alon-”

“Oh _no_ ,” Dave cuts you of, “No, no, no, no, no.” the words dip into a swooping drawl and by the end of his incredulous repetition, his hands are in the air and he’s saying _nawww_.

“No _what_?”

“No, don’t start this. Don’t fucking start this. Don’t try to pull some delusional bullshit where oh no, we’re so alike. You don’t understand shit, Pyrope.”

“Because you never let me! You never let _anyone_! You just... hide behind your stupid glasses and say disgusting things until people leave you alone. You-” it would probably be the worst possible time to compare him to Karkat, however appropriate your metaphor about frothing and flailing was, “- _and now you’re yelling_.”

“I am not-” he stops short when he realizes that he _is_. “F-fine. I’m yelling! But only because you won’t fucking take a hint and leave me alone!”

“ _You_ started this fight!” you rock back on your heels, swinging one arm out to the side for emphasis. You then do your best Dave Strider impression, “hey terezi hey tz hey tz wanna argue cause i do bluh bluh meat popsicle.”

He opens his mouth to snipe back, but nothing comes out.

“Look, Dave, _we really don’t have the time for this right now_. And I don’t think I am a person you should be attempting to initiate a feelings jam with! Why don’t you-”

“Woah, what?”

“ _Why don’t you-_ ”

“What the fuck is a feelings jam?”

You’re about ready to snap your cane in half right over this here cultural barrier, “You’re obviously still upset about your adult-male-lusus-creature. If you need to work out your _feeeeelings_ , you could have picked a better place!”

“What feelings? There are no feelings, just goddamn chill. Past tense totally dealt with it.”

He makes this weird motion with both his hands at the word _chill_ , like he’s gliding them over an invisible surface. Your expression falls flat. Dave then does his best Terezi Pyrope impression.

“Hey, Dave, is this you? Freshest piece of meat Popsicle on the street? Show me your delicious man pain so I can slather you with this horrifying gash of dentara on my face here. Bluh, bluh I’m Terezi.”

“ _Soooo_ mature!”

“We’re way past mature, Tz. Mature was three interstate turn offs ago. We’re in deep country now and the hills have fucking eyes. The goddamn eight toed hillbillies are crawling out of the undergrowth to gently beat us to death with their human flesh dildos. That’s how far away this conversation has gotten from mature.”

“First of all-” you hold up a finger to specify _one_. You are making a _list_ here and he’d better not interrupt you, “I do a much better impression of you than you do of me. Second of all: _Gross_! Third of all: whether or not the contents of your man pain are of interest to my _delicate_ palate is irrelevant at the moment. If you need to cry about something do it already! I promise I will somehow restrain myself.”

“Shit, this is actually hilarious. Y-you actually think you understand?”

You’ve got three fingers up and are a little irritated that he didn’t wait for you to confirm that you were finished. You listen to him, however, because his voice is wavering suspiciously, “Terezi, I don’t care about your fetus dragon mom or whatever. You don’t get it. Her never being there isn’t the same fucking thing. I-” he stops to inhale shakily, a hand passing over his face. You can’t make out the details of what he’s doing with his fingers, but it smells like he’s re-adjusting the shades, “Losing something is way fucking worse than never having it at all Jesus I shouldn’t even have to explain this. Bro, he-”

“He taught you,” you supply when Dave doesn’t. You lower your hand, regarding him curiously, “He taught you to be strong.”

“He taught me shit all except how to take a beating in style. N-never fucking once let up- no wonder I could never c-catch up. The only goddamn thing Bro ever taught my was how to fucking lose.”

This is a delicate conversation. You’re regarding him with cautious- if shockingly _sympathetic_ \- trepidation. You tip your head questioningly as he keeps going.

“No wait, taught me how to lie to children’s services as well. Taught me how to fucking lie like a lying pro can’t even think of a good metaphor here. That’s because shit about magnificent cockswell baboon assfuck is all lies too- don’t even fucking think about what I’m saying half the time. That’s what Bro taught me to be- pale fucking imitation of the real thing except I’ve never actually succeeded at that. I’m like one of those shadows that’s left after the bomb hits- god, listen to that ill poetry right there Tz. That’s a fucking evocative image I just painted for you with my words. You happy now?”

“Dave,” you interject calmly, feeling a little rattled. You’ve got this feeling knocking around in your curved-bone enclosure that is dangerously close to _pity_. It’s dangerously close to the most pity you’ve ever felt in your life, even more than you used to feel listening to Karkat’s meandering, self-hating rants with a giant grin on your face. This is it- this is what it means to see the core of someone, all their shaky, ugly, unfortunate bits. Karkat shows this to everyone when he starts up, even if you’re the only one who could ever pick apart the bits and pieces. Too bad he never saw it in you. Dave probably won’t either; you’re always giving too much of yourself to people who can’t see the picture for the frame.

“P-pulled my fucking strings worse than he ever did Cal’s. Practically had his hand right up my colon and not even in the way Ms. Jones from protective custody thought that one time.” he makes a wet sniffling noise so you interrupt him again.

“Dave. Did you hate your brother?”

The crack is almost audible. His inhale gets caught on a hack and he scrunches up his shoulders as he starts to make this really uncool noise. Dave Strider is teetering on the edge of crying and you are watching it happen with a calculated expression.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, and the shades come off. “F-fuck. I...” they clatter to the ground as he rubs his eyes, “Why can’t I just say yes,” he mumbles, “Shit, _shit_. No, I didn’t fucking hate my brother.” You bend down to retrieve the glasses, clasping them loosely in one hand as you resist the temptation to lick the lenses, “How could I _hate_ him. Jesus, I... he was the whole fucking world to me. Wanted to be just like him ‘cause I was a total moron. No I-” he’s crying freely now and his hands fly out in an angry gesture, his un-masked eyes a strawberry shock to your senses. They really were everything you hoped they be, although his tears aren’t nearly as tasty as anticipated. If you had to describe the taste, it would be _bitter_ , “ _I loved my brother_.” he shouts, “I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. Shit, that what you wanted to hear? Deep dark secrets at five o’clock, tune in to see Dave Strider totally lose his shit. My cheeks are gonna be your sandy beach or whatever the fuck it was you bragged. Is this what you wanted?”

Quietly- and honestly- you answer, “No.” The word hangs between the two of you as all the air goes out of him. He wipes furiously at his tears with the heel of his palm and you reflect on how throwing rocks at dark water wasn’t the best metaphor here; you were just jumping around in a puddle. You’d apologize but, 1) you don’t think he’d accept it 2) you don’t think he’d believe you and 3) _you really, really wanted to do it_. You hand him his shades and he snatches them in a swift, ungainly movement, veneer of cool firmly back in place.

“Don’t you dare fucking say I needed this.” he mutters after a few minutes, composure at about 32%.

“Why would I do that?”

“... isn’t that a thing. A thing nosy Seer chicks do?”

“Your reality is your perception, Dave. You only needed it if you think you needed it.” and you can’t help but grin (just a _bit_ ok) because you can predict what his reaction is going to be.

“ _Jegus_.” Composure, 48%.

For some reason, you reach out to grab his hand and begin yanking him along, “Let’s go. We don’t have much time left.”

And for some reason it takes him a few minutes to let go.


End file.
